


a few distractions never hurt

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: Barry's too good at the whole "play now, work later" thing. And Iris doesn't have the strength to resist his charm.





	

"Irissssssssssss."

Barry's voice comes for the fifth time in 10 minutes. This time, she barely flinches when she hears it, but still has to let out an exasperated sigh.

"Iris. Iris Iris Iris!"

She stops typing.

Slowly she lifts her head, shifting her eyes from her laptop to him. He's sitting on the couch, his upper body turned to her, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Yes?"

"Come here!"

She shakes her head. "I'm good where I am." 

"Nooo," he complains, "the dining table is far and the seat is uncomfortable. The couch is soft."

She doesn't know if it's the smile that gets to her or if it's the fact that he has a very bruised knee and she told him to take it easy for the next few hours, but Iris can't help the little scrunch of her nose and her own smile back.

"I really need to get this done, Bear," she responds, referencing her current article.

"You deadline is tomorrow! You're a fast typer."

"Yes, but you are very distracting."

He grins. "I miss you."

"I'm..." Iris rolls her eyes and lets out a playful huff, "...literally here. I'm right here."

"You're far away. Come closer."

Iris decides to ignore him.

Really, if she responded to his every request about being close to her, she'd never leave his side (he'd never let her). Barry loved being close. Everywhere. Whether it was holding hands in public or giving her hugs at CCPN or stealing kisses at CCPD or spooning her in bed or cuddling her tight on their sofa every day and every night, he never objected. And the romantic in her loved it too, loved the way his hands would snake underneath her clothes, loved his peppered kisses to her neck and jawline, loved the way he lingered when pulling away and rubbed their noses together, like it was just the two of them in the entire world. It was the sweetest, really,  _he_ was the sweetest, and it didn't help he had the face of a puppy dog either.

But then there were inconvenient times for all the touching, times like now where she had to finish her work, otherwise the story wouldn't get out, otherwise she risked delaying news that the people of the city deserved to hear, and Iris couldn't do that, no matter how tempting and how very very  _very_ adorable her boyfriend looked, with his knee wrapped and his hair ruffled and his eyes a baby green, staring at her with a soft glisten.

"Irissssssssssssssss!" Barry repeats his previous call.

She doesn't look up, suppresses the smile forming on her lips.

"I can just come get you, you know," he retaliates.

That gets her attention.

"If you dare take a step, you will not hear the end of it," she says, her voice stern and serious. She hated when Barry got hurt, and even with his self-healing abilities, it still scared her senseless to think anything could happen to him.

"I need ice."

She glares at him. "You hate ice."

"Yes, but I need it."

"Now?"

"Yes," he nods.

There's a hidden intention here. She knows it. He's not doing a good job at hiding it.

Normally, he'd rather his body suffer through the pain than have it subjected to freezing temperatures.

"And you'll put the ice pack on for 20 minutes?" she asks skeptically.

He pauses for a few seconds. Then, his lips curve upwards. "I will if you sit next to me."

Iris pushes her laptop away. "You are impossible, Barry Allen."

But she has to do it, just has to.

Begrudgingly, she gets up to walk over to the kitchen and grabs one of the many ice packs they have. Barry bought them all for her when she had the patch on her hand thanks to the meta who touched her and almost set her body into complete decay. During that time, it was Barry who wouldn't let her do anything that could potentially damage it further. She needed a cup of coffee? Barry would make it for her and bring it all the way over. Sometimes, when he saw her reaching for it with the injured hand, he'd swipe it away and bring it to her lips. She couldn't lift anything he considered "too heavy" which included her laptop, even though it weighed probably less than a pound and fit in the palm of her hand readily. He did all the chores in the loft for a week, even though they usually alternated days. Iris wasn't allowed to bake, cook, write or really do anything with her left arm.

Needless to say, he fussed about her a lot.

She, less so about him. But then again, Barry's level of fussing was up there with Jon Oliver's ability to keep a metaphor going, and that was a level she refused to let herself reach.

But she liked taking care of him, nonetheless, on her own terms.

"Here." She plops down next to his side and places the ice pack on the bruised right knee. 

He grins.

"You have to hold it there."

She raises her eyebrows. "Do I?"

"Mhm."

"Why...?"

"Too far for me to reach."

"Barr-" she begins to formulate the argument, which would go something along the lines of  _you don't even have to reach, your arms are long enough_ , but he cuts her off.

"- besides," he says, his hands gripping her waist, "my hands are busy."

"You really are impossible," Iris says incredulously. 

She's pretty sure he stopped listening already, his hands finding their way underneath her shirt. Iris gasps at the contact, which takes her slightly off guard. The ice pack rests firmly in her hand as she pushes it hard on his knee.

"Too cold," Barry mumbles.

But then his hands are running up her stomach and his lips are meeting hers and she feels warm, even with the ice pack in her hand, even though it's still fairly chilly in their loft. Barry's lips and Barry's touches and the way Barry brushes his fingers against her torso, teasingly, agonisingly slow, makes her toes curl and warmth fill her core.

"W-work," she stutters.

He, of course, doesn't listen.

Instead he takes the ice pack from her hand and throws it haphazardly onto the floor, somewhere. It's not lost on her that it'll probably melt and leave the carpet wet, but she can't do much about that right now. Because, no sooner has the ice pack left his hand than is his hand back on her waist, gripping it firmly and hoisting her up to straddle his lap, her knees falling on either side of his legs.

Barry doesn't break their kiss. 

Iris can't find it in herself to do so either.

She knows she should push off him and get back to work. She knows this particular activity can't be good for the rest he's supposed to be giving his knee. She knows that if they start this right now, she'll get loose and lazy and want to curl up in his arms for the next hour, which would definitely be pushing the wiggle room on her deadline.

But then her shirt is off. And her bra is unhooked. And his hands are gliding along her tummy and she, subconsciously, brings her own hands below his shirt, and yeah. It's all downhill from there.

The best kind of downhill though. Like a frictionless downhill, almost in free fall, except there's no fear that they'll fall off a ledge or a cliff. And even if they do fall, Barry always manages to make her feel safe till her feet touch the ground again.

"You love me," he smiles against her lips.

It's then she finally finds the strength to pull away. She pushes back, forces her hands out from underneath his shirt and plants them on his chest.

"Was this your plan all along?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

"Of course not!" He feigns offense. "You know I'd never want to distract you from important stuff."

"Uh-hu," she cocks her head. "And what about your knee needing ice?"

"It feels better now."

"Does it?"

"Mhm." He nods. "You iced it."

"The ice pack barely touched it, Bear."

"No no, it did."

He's distracted again. She can tell by the way his eyes can't seem to hold contact with hers. They're wandering all over, first to stare at her lips, then her boobs, then her lower body. Soon enough, his hands are back to doing their own roaming, once again making contact with her back and giving her a gentle nudge forward.

Except the gentle nudge comes a little too hard and she stumbles forward, falling into his chest.

He laughs at that. And since he has her there, he wraps his arms around her and savors her smell, savors the way her hair lays splattered against his chest, savors how soft and warm she feels against him.

"I love you," Barry whispers into her hair.

He feels her smile. Then a kiss comes to his collarbone and soon enough, her hands are back underneath his shirt.

She lifts herself up. 

Iris pulls and tugs at the shirt, not paying much attention to it, too busy focused on his eyes. "Take." She pauses, leaning down to kiss him. "This." Another pause and another kiss. "Off." She pulls away and eyes the shirt and he has it off in a millisecond, per her request.

"Done."

She doesn't wait for him to get the word out, instead leaning down to kiss him again. Tenderly, she holds his lips between hers, sucks on his bottom lip for good measure, before moving her mouth to his jawline and then his neck.

Her hands have taken a life of their own, now unbuttoning his jeans and sneaking their way underneath his boxers. When Iris dips down low, she feels his breath stop.

"So not fair," he stutters.

"You play dirty," she counters, "so can I."

But Barry's not having it.

When her lips leave his neck momentarily, he takes that as an opportunity to flip them over, so that she's lying on the couch beneath him and his body is covering hers.

He grins.

She's impatient.

Very very impatient.

Because it's bad enough he's distracted her from doing anything productive (unless this is considered productive -- though if it is, all her days just got an extra tick in productivity rating) and now he wants to take his time.

"What?" 

"Nothing," his smile grows a little bigger.

Both of her hands reach up to rest on the nape of his neck. But no matter how much she nudges him closer, he refuses to come.

"Barry!"

"Hmmm."

Iris rolls her eyes. "Honestly, impossible."

"You're impossible."

"I am not."

"Yes," he ducks his head, "you really are. How are you always so beautiful, Iris?"

She feels the blood going to her cheeks.

"Even on a Sunday night," he continues, "even in sweats and a messy ponytail, you manage to look like this."

"You're such a cheesy flirt, you know," she smacks his chest.

"Iri-"

"I love you too," Iris cuts him off, this time pushing herself up to meet his lips. "I love Sundays with you, when you like to be a child because you want me to take care of you."

Barry laughs.

"And I like your pretty brown hair and your pretty green eyes and how you always look like an excited puppy, even though you're hurt and something could've happened to you today."

"You were scared?"

"I know you'll always win, Barry," she says sincerely, "it doesn't mean I don't hold my breath every time you leave."

"Because you love me."

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes. This time, when she pulls him down, he goes readily. His lips are back on hers, kissing her tentatively and softy and his hands manage to push down her sweats.

Iris can't catch her breath, not with the way he pauses every once in awhile to kiss every part of her face, to kiss her eyelids shut and to make her feel lightheaded, like she's spinning in place, like the entire world is uncannily still and quiet and pushed away except for the two of them.

The air leaves her lungs when one of his fingers rubs her folds.

She shuts her eyes tight.

Her hands grip his back and she molds her body to his, fiercely claims his lips for herself, until she can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Iris can't remember what happens next. It all blurs a little, the moment one of his fingers enters her and she can't tell up from down.

What she knows is there are stars in her eyes after some time, after every thought has managed to leave her head, after Barry's lips are on her neck, kissing the bruises he made away. When he collapses on top of her, her breathing levels again.

She places a quiet kiss to the top of his head.

"Worth it, right?" he asks, and Iris can hear the laugh in his voice as much as she can feel his smile on her skin.

"Dork," she replies.

"Your dork," he says lifting his head, "a dork who's name you love screaming when c-"

Iris pulls him down for a kiss. "No one likes a bragger."

"I like bragging though," he smirks.

"Barry Allen, keep this up and  _this_ " - she points between their two chests - "won't happen again for awhile."

"You can't resist me though."

She licks her lips. "You really wanna try me?"

"Nope." And then he's quickly kissing her again and tangling their feet together. "Not even a little bit."

"Good," she sighs contently.

She'll finish work later. Later sounds good.

But for now, she'll hug Barry a little closer and nuzzle her nose into his neck and draw circles along his back till they both fall asleep, wrapped in each other till the morning sun wakes them up.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed it. If you wanna talk fanfic/headcanon stuff with me, feel free to reach out on my new tumblr: withaflashofloveff. I'll be posting my fics on there as well from now on.
> 
> Also, I want to just say a quick thanks to those who've been commenting/leaving kudos on my fics. I've gotten bad at responding to the comments, but I do see them all and it makes me feel so so loved. This medium alone has gotten me invested back into the show, in a way that I really didn't think I would be again, so thank you thank you thank you :)


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